by Kit Tunstall © 2001

He loves her eyes.

They are so expressive, giving him a glimpse at the complex and layered soul behind those eyes. Not only does he love the expressions her eyes project, he loves the color. They are a vivid blue, burning more brightly than any pair of blue eyes he has ever seen. They are slightly almond shaped, and tilted just a bit so that the inside corners of her eyes are a fraction lower than the outside corners. They are fringed with thick black lashes, which he finds to be a stimulating and sexy contrast to her blonde hair. He knows personally that her blonde hair is natural as they have been intimate and the softly curling hair at the juncture of her thighs is nearly the same shade.

She is talking to him and he is forgetting to listen again as he stares at her beautiful eyes. Finally her impatient tone penetrates his clouded brain and he makes himself listen. "There you go again," she sighs. "You never listen to me when I talk to you. We don't have anything in common, and I'm not sure if we ever did. I think it would be best if we stopped seeing each other."

"For how long?" he asks numbly, licking his lips nervously. She can't be dumping him, no please, not her and her beautiful eyes. He can't live without those eyes.

She cocks her head and lifts an eyebrow, giving him a better look at her moist, shiny, blue eye. "Forever," she says in a firm voice. "It just isn't working out between us."

He refuses to believe she is like the other girls he has known. "You can't mean it," he protests. "We love each other."

She shakes her head, "We did love each other," she concedes and his heart fills with hope until she speaks again, dashing his hopes. "You might still love me, but I don't love you anymore. I think you should go now."

She is like all the others! She is rejecting him too, for no reason that he can understand. Is he not exciting enough? Does he not romance her? Does she doubt his love is true? How can she end things when they are so perfect? How can she be so cruel and heartless as to make him live without seeing her eyes? He tries to offer an argument, but she refuses to hear his words. "I want you to leave, now," she says almost fearfully.

He accepts that he has to go, that things are over between them. She never really loved him, and he wouldn't want to stay with her anyway. He's taking her eyes with him, though. That is little enough for her to give him after he has given her three months of pure and faithful love.

She seems more surprised than anything when he hits her. She slumps down on the couch, mostly unconscious as he goes into the kitchen. He takes the sharpest knife he can find and returns to her. She screams once as he makes the first cut, but one more blow to her head silences her.

With careful precision, as if this was his craft and he is an artist, he cuts around the eyes, making sure he doesn't damage the beautiful orbs. When his work is finished, he slips the eyes into a sandwich bag and leaves her there, uncaring if she is dead or alive. She did not care about him so why should he care about her?

When he gets home to his lonely apartment, he takes the bag from his pocket where it had been carefully laid during the ride home on the subway. He looks at her eyes and notices they are no longer moist and shiny. They are still that vivid shade of blue, but he knows from experience that the color will soon fade. It always does, and he is cast adrift in misery until he finds the next set of beautiful eyes. Maybe the next girl will be different from the rest.

x x x

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